My Feminist Teacher

Today is my daddy’s birthday. Happy birthday Daddy!

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I’m so very thankful for him. Throughout this semester, I have been working on a research project on Biblical Feminism. Do you know who taught me about feminism?

My daddy.

Gender roles were never really a thing in my house. My parents split up responsibilities on whoever was better equipped for the job or who had more time that day. That usually meant my dad cooked (because he makes the best food I have ever eaten), they would both clean, both garden, my dad would do the bills, etc. When my mom went back to school, my dad assumed most of the household responsibilities. When my dad left ministry and had to commute 1-2 hours to work everyday, my mom would take over the chores a little more.

What I learned was equal partnership, respect for life phases, and an understanding of appropriation of gifts and time.

Sometimes when I was younger, I would think about if Dad wished he had a son so he could teach him all the “man” things. Looking back, he didn’t hold back any lessons because I was his daughter. I learned how to use a drill before I enrolled in kindergarten. I helped fix the boat in middle school. I played sports from a young age. I helped him cook every once in a while–especially when we were making spaghetti and meatballs.

When dreaming about all the career paths I could follow, he spoke of medical and engineering school. He would dream about me–an independent, fierce woman–working and thriving in a male dominated world.

But he never forgot that I was a girl either. He would do my hair before pre-school (or attempt to.) He let me paint his nails once or twice–which he promptly removed. He coached my girls-only field hockey team.

Gender was never an issue.

This is why I fight for equality and empowerment. Gender doesn’t mean we should cater to a stereotype. Gender is just one facet of a person. Let’s empower people. Let people be people. Let a person figure out who they are and what that means in their context in their own time.

Thanks for never throwing me in a barbie-shaped, pink box because I’m a girl.

Thanks for letting me be Emily and letting me figure that out in my own time.

I love you!

 

 

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